Lying flat on the trampoline, time moves in slow motion. They soar into the air on top and all around me, each to their own rhythm, each with their own stunts. my body bubbles with them. I laugh and I shriek, but I trust all along. Theyve done this before, layed here before. A sort of right of passage.
Their home is some 300 years old, though much has been renovated. The vestibule, laden with feline junglegyms, leads into their tiled kitchen. Its pretty standard and modern. On the right is a table with a wrap around bench. Teddy bears of all sizes nestle on the winding stairway, usually with kittens scattered in between. a dependably adorable scene. My room is at the top of the steps. I sleep amid transformers, and hanging mobiles, a library of childrens picture books and a poster of the disney Cars movie in Jerome's old room. Since their Au Pair, Stephanie, sleeps in the third floor bedroom, Jerome and Amelie were kind enough to share a room to make room for me. They get along very well, playing Nintendo, Futbol or trampolining together. Everyday when I get home around 7pm, they're often playing in the beautifully groomed lawn with a host of neighboorhood kids, a huge willow tree in the corner. Ill drop my stuff and get down. Jürgen, the Father, gardens avidly. His huge, cobblestone lined garden grows potatoes and tomatoes, beautiful sunflowers and Fresias and flowers I dont know. He has many projects going on at once, and after he cycles home from Nyon, a trip which takes me over a half hour by train, he gets down and dirty outside. I offer to help, but he tells me he works with pleasure. His brother-in-law calls him a workaholic. Marylene tends to the home, the fish, the cats, children and Jürgen, and works from her home as a beautician two days a week. Shes always busy, cleaning up after the cats, hosting the visiters who come to purchase them, cleaning, brushing hair, etc. She takes parenting very seriously and is very good at it. She sleeps in a separate room from her husband, and has a very full life all her own. Stephanie helps quite a bit. I love this girl. She's 16, was born in south america, and moved at a very young age to Basil, in Northern Switzerland where the educational opportunities would offer her a better life. She speaks Swiss-German, french, spanish, and is now learning English with me. She goes home on the weekends, goes to school each day, cooks for the family at night, and tells me all about her life, boys, dreams, etc. She always got a sort of light and airy way about her, and we get along very well, despite a little bit of a language barrier. We laugh and teach each other.
Marylene's parents live in a small home attached to the back of the house, also quite separate from each other. Her father watched TV all day and smokes incessantly. Hes always friendly and happy to see me. Im not sure what her mother does... but outside, across from the pool, the small barn or garage, and swingset, is another small home, recently built. Here, Marylene's sister lives with her 21 year old daugher, Maralin and her 22 year old boyfriend David. On my first night, they have me over and toast my arrival. "Santé!" They take me through their vineyards on a family "promenade." We get a booklet of ticket, strap a wine glass around our necks and venture from vineyard to vineyard, eating and sipping wines from the patchworks of farms that decorate the land here with texture, color, productivity and personality. I meet men from Italy who dazzle me with flowers and stories from afar; old women from Finland walked by their small dogs; I watch the children frolick through the trees and hillsides, Corra (our dog) prances besides them.
Each morning I awaken early (545am) to use the (one) bathroom before catching the only bus each hour that leaves this small village for the train station to Nyon where I study. It takes me through vast sunflower fields, vineyards and small villages, and Ive come to recognize many of the young faces. Classes come day by day. Sometimes we have long discussions about Security, migration and health; or analyze the causes for the shift from a state to people-focused international community. Sometimes we go to the palais in Geneva. Three days a week, we have french class for three hours, which, despite its length, helps tremendousely. Im starting to think in French more and more...which is wierd, because sometimes my English will almost come out as translated French. Often, Earle will organize a tea, cafe, croissant gathering for all of us to come together, take over a cafe and socialize. Its really nice!
We^ve gone out together a couple of times now. I really dont like to roll that deep...some 10 kids, some more intoxicated than others, flagging ourselves as Americans on the trams and cobblestoned streets of a worldly and refined European city. Many people didnt make it the whole night anyway. At one pub, I heard some kids speaking engligh, so I introduced myself. They turned out to be students from the US who studies abroad at Webster in Geneva, and liked it so much that they tranferred. I met many other kids from Webster froma all over the world--Greece, Russia, Romaina, Hong Kong--and they recommend cool things to do here. We exchange numbers.
Its a beautiful place here--so clean, polite and politically/socioculturally utopian. Ill write about this more later, but their direct democracy works, people live very healthy, hardworking, orderly lives and are happy and friendly. People complement me on my French all the time, and Festivals or concerts grace the streets and many parks all the time. I wish you were here to see it. And (!) one of the French teachers, the sweetest woman ever, Gisselle, gave me the numbers for the Music conservatory in Geneva where I can go and play. Thats on my agenda for today!
Yesterday, I went hiking through the Jura Mountain Range, to the Dola summit some 3500 m high with two of the guys from my program (Pete and Paul) and one from the other (Max). I got kissed by a cow:) They are scattered through the hills, and wear HUGE cow bells around their necks that combine to create what sounds like a gorgeous windchime echoing through clear air. Mountain goats pranced before us on the trails. Given the little map we had, and what Ive come to discover to be a somewhat characteristically nontraditional predisposition among ourselves, we ventured off the trail and found ourselves bushwacking through gorgeous trees, golden sunbeams, and bright orange mushrooms down the steep, forested decline. Flying blind at times, we followed the sound of the cow bells.
I got home, showered and went out with Mariel and five Swiss guys, friends of Davids... tbc
